


The Terror Beginning

by Murmures1234



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/pseuds/Murmures1234
Summary: Lockdown for a wee while, thought it was time to get back on the story arc. Starting at the real beginning this time though!New: First Story in the "Terror Inside" arc.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elim_garak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/gifts), [hidingupatreeorsomething](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingupatreeorsomething/gifts).



Part 1: The beginning. 

John sat on the chair, in the interview room, foot tapping. Hand tapping on the table. 

He could still feel the blood in his hair. On his face. The grey custody provided sweat-pants and jumper not unfamiliar, but stained already just from the residue that was on his skin. _That was unfamiliar_

They hadn’t let him shower yet. 

Still taste it. 

_Fuck._ His stomach was rolling. He wanted to be sick. 

This was never supposed to happen. 

He had sworn, since the day he came into Foster Care, he wouldn’t end up like all those other kids. 

Catching life sentences when they were just kids. 

Fuck.

His eyes darted left to right. 

A trapped animal. 

The door opened. 

A police officer led in a strange man. 

_What the fuck._

“You’re not my Social.” John said. 

“No, I’m the duty Social.” The man said, pulling up the seat to the other side of the table. 

“Where’s my Social?” John said. “I want to talk to her.” 

“Son…” The police officer said, “I’m not sure you are in the position to make demands now.” 

John clenched his jaw. Nodded imperceptibly. 

The police officer paused. That was the facial expression of a child old before their time. The exact reason he wanted out of this job. Why he couldn’t wait to retire. 

The strange man was staring at the Police Officer. 

Tanned. John noticed. Way too fucking tanned for here. The accent was off too. An ex-pat accent, perhaps? North Africa somewhere maybe? He couldn’t tell. 

Army hair cut like that, too, _no way he was a fucking social worker._

“Me and John need some time alone. I’m duty Social worker, you’ve seen my credentials.” 

The police officer nodded, to his credit, looking uncomfortable, but closed the door. 

“What happened John?” The man said. 

John just stared at him; Jaw clenched. 

The sat in silence; for one minute. Two minutes; then Three. 

John just staring at the strange man. 

“John?” The man said eventually. That strange, clipped accent again. 

“You’re no fucking Social Worker. I’m not talking to you.” 

The strange man just looked back at him. 

“I am the duty social worker John.” The man said again. 

John was angry now. It was bubbling up inside of him, uncontrollable rage. 

His hands slammed on the table. 

“No, you’re fucking not. You’re not from here. You don’t get a tan like that around here, even in Summer. Your accent is off, and you’ve not even told me your goddam fucking name,” He spat. Paused for breath. “Don’t fucking bullshit me.” He spat again. 

The strange man sat back in his chair now, crossing one leg over the other, a smirk appearing over his face. He crossed his arms.  
“You’re in trouble kid,” The strange man said. “You need help.” 

“Not from anyone that doesn’t even see fit to tell me their fucking name.” John spat back, sitting back. Crossing his arms, doing his best to mirror the posture of this man in front of him. 

“You’re good kid, I’ll give you that,” the man said, broad smirk still on his face, a chuckle coming out him. 

That seething rage from before was back. But better controlled this time. He let it rise up inside him, and pushed it back down, even though his stomach was rolling, and he wanted to be sick. 

“My names John,” He said again, Jaw still clenched. His head tipped to the side. “What’s yours?” 

The strange man sighed. 

“My name is Michael Smith.” 

“No, It’s not.” John said. “Try again.” 

“It is Michael Smith.” The strange man sighed again. 

John laughed now. Growing increasingly unsure of his original judgement but sticking to his guns. Fuck it, he thought. _Already committed now._ And it was distracting him while he waited for his actual social worker and his actual lawyer to arrive. 

“It is Michael Smith.” 

John kept his arms crossed, but now, his eyebrows in the roof of his head. 

The strange man changed tact. 

“The man you killed, Win Tse, was important.” 

Now the hairs on the back of Johns neck stood up. 

“He was a fucking Paedophile.” He spat. 

The man nodded. 

“Yes he was. That’s not important” 

John jumped up, instantly. Ready to make that Police Officer pay for his mistake in not cuffing him to the table. Jumping over the table he should have been cuffed to, pushing the strange man backwards in his chair, knocking it over. Hands going to the mans’ throat. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Blood pounding in his ears. 

“He. Raped. A. Little. Girl.” John spat, before suddenly…

His own arms and limbs were suddenly every-where and he was face down on the floor, pinned. Knee in his back. 

“My name is Dar Adal.” The strange man whispered in his ear. “The man you killed was an important national security asset, and now, kid, you’re in too deep. I’m the only man that can help you out. You got two choices here. You help me out, and you might live. Or you stick it out here, get tried as an adult, and go to jail and wait for Tses’ gang to finish you off.”

The strange man moved his knee; and the boy scurried into the corner, suddenly, he was the scared, gangly teenage boy that he had been this morning. No pretence now. The boy he’d been before he’d flipped and taken a knife to that Care Workers throat. 

His eyes were darting back and forth.

A trapped animal with nowhere to go.


	2. Honey words and Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dar Adal and his Honey words are poision.

The strange man approached the gangly boy now, with his hands out. Like he was approaching an animal. 

The gangly boy was hyperventilating, sweating. In the corner. Trying to get his head around everything. Eyes darting left to right, left to right. Hoping for the door to open, and the nice police officer to come in and tell him this was a joke. 

“You going to do what I say then kid?” The man said. 

_What was his name again?_ John couldn’t think. 

The strange mans hand reached out to brush the boys head, but moved away quickly realising how wet the boys head was. Mildly congealed blood. 

“How is a rapist a National Security asset?” the boy asked eventually, quietly. 

The man crouched down, to look him in the eyes. 

“That doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” the boy said. 

“I’ll tell you later.” The strange man said eventually. “Are you going to help me?” 

The boys’ eyes were wide.  
“How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?” The boy said eventually. 

“You don’t.” The man said. “But you do know Tse was a shady sort. You do know that regardless of that, you will stand trial for his murder, and you do know without me, you will be spending a very long time in Prison. A time when his gang could get you, whenever they like. I need you for 1 job John. It will take a month at most. After that, you’ll be relocated anywhere in the country you like, new name. You want to go to college? Great. We will pay for it, my people. It will be like this never happened, like you never killed that man. Erased.” 

The gangly boys’ eyes just bored into him. A thousand-yard stare. 

_“You can’t erase murder though, can you?”_ The boy said quietly, eyes looking straight into the strange man. 

A lone tear rolling down the gangly boy’s face. 

“I can.” The strange man said, reaching out to wipe away the boy’s tear, almost tenderly.  
The boy pushed the man’s hand away, angrily. 

“No. You can’t. You might be able to pay enough people, so they don’t care. But you can’t change what I did. And you know what, I’m glad I did it. That man was evil. I promised Fi she wouldn’t get hurt again. I PROMISED.” He screamed. Took a breath. And another breath. “and then he raped her. Again. And again. And again.” Another pause. “I don’t care what happens to me. I’m glad he’s dead.” 

More tears rolled down the boy’s face. The boy wiped them away again, disgusted with himself for crying in front of this man. 

A giant sized hand was on his shoulder now. The sweaty warmth of it he could feel even through the custody sweater. But the gangly boy was tired now. He didn’t have any strength left in him to push the hand off. His heart was hammering too loudly in his chest. 

“You do care though kid. Otherwise you’d have run, the moment you did it. But you stayed put, maybe hoping someone would see the circumstances. Give you justice, and by extension that little girl. That can’t happen now, but I’m offering you the chance to prevent many more things happening to little girls like Fi, John. You could stop a lot of people being hurt, if you were one of my guys John. That would help, wouldn’t it? Help you get through these feelings that are inside of you.” 

That giant-sized paw was on his Chest now. 

John looked past the man, looking at the camera in the corner, linked to the CCTV room. Hoping that someone was watching. That someone would take this strange man and his twisted honey words away. 

Then he noticed. No green light blinking at the side. Camera off. 

Another hand tiled his face back towards this strange man. 

“You want to stop people being hurt, don’t you kid?” the words dripped out of his mouth again like poisioned honey. “One month, kid, that’s all I’m asking. Then you can live your life, knowing you’ve killed one man yes, but that you’ve saved hundreds of others. Relocation anywhere. That’s what you will get if you are my guy John. You could be something great John, you could do great things. You get that?” 

The boy nodded. 

“You want that? You want to be one of my guys?” 

It took some time. One minute. Two. 

But eventually, the gangly boy nodded again. Tears rolling out of his eyes silently, but like river flowing off the edge of a mountain precipice. 

“Good lad. I’ll see you at your arraignment.” He said, standing up. Dusting his trousers off. 

The boy stayed in the corner of the room, on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Tears rolling down his face. 

The man knocked on the interview room door and it opened again, the Police officer never looking in. The strange man left. 

The room was quiet. Just like that, it was almost as if the strange man had never come. 

But he had come. And John knew he had no idea what he had let himself in for. All he knew was what the man said, _1 month_ , and then he wouldn’t be like all of those other kids, the ones that _caught life when they were still kids_. 

1 month, and maybe his father or brother, who were looking down on him somewhere would look down with love, not disgust. 

The kinder part of John told himself his brother and his father would be proud of what he did. He promised Fi he would protect her, and he did. His brother and his father had both died for their oaths, that’s how important a promise was to them. 

But there was a part of John that was not unfamiliar to this other part. A darker, uglier part that was screaming. **Screaming.** That he would never be whole again. That voice from years ago was screaming. “You killed your mother, you little DEVIL.” Slap. His face burned. It _still burned_ , years later. Even now, he had to touch his cheek to remind himself that it truly was years since he had been stuck there in that place. “And now you shall live with the Mark of Cain upon you!”

John could not stop the tears rolling down his face now. He couldn’t even slow them. He reached up with the back of his hand to wipe them off, blinking as he did so. When he opened them, all of a sudden, he could have sworn his hands were red and sticky again, covered in blood. He blinked again, and they were his own, cleaned hands again. Just the residue of blood that wouldnt wash away from the crevices of his finger nails. 

And he was on his hands and knees now, vomiting over the interview room floor.


	3. 438 Bricks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is good at maths.

438 bricks. 

438 bricks made up the long wall of his cell. 

Two long walls and two short walls; 1168 bricks in total. 

He could have done the maths, but he counted them all individually. Trying to keep his mind occupied. 13 hours, 47 minutes and 32 seconds he’d been in there. 

He’d be taken to his arraignment any time now; the custody officer had said. It was at 1pm. 11 minutes, 48 seconds away. 

His lawyer, who he presumed was a friend of the strange man, had told him he would plead not guilty due to psychiatric ill-health, on account of the terrible childhood he had had, and he would be bailed to the mental hospital. Assessed by shrinks. He presumed he’d be picked up along the way by the strange man and his people, but he wasn't sure now, if that conversation with the strange man had even happened. 

It had been 17 hours, 32 minutes and 18 seconds since the strange man left the interview suite.

19 hours, 48 minutes and 13 seconds since he’d executed Tse. Watched his face fall into the mud. Brown and Red mingling together until they were indistinguishable.

He wasn’t sure now. Wasn’t sure about the strange man’s existence at all. 

The fact was he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He’d eventually been allowed to shower, once forensics had looked him over again. He’d closed his eyes and opened them again in the shower, trying to wash the blood-iron smell off every part of him, but when he opened them up again, there it was again. The river of blood by his feet. 

He was decompensating. _Badly_ . And he knew it. Needed something to focus on. 

112 press ups. 

The pain in his muscles bringing him back to reality, just as the door opened. The nice police officer there again.  
“Ready son?” He said. 

The gangly boy nodded. Holding out his hands for the man to cuff them again. Led to the van. 312 steps. The heavy door shutting. There was a window, and he saw the town zooming by as he was driven to the courthouse. Starbucks. Bagel-Man. Walmart. Just people, going about their day to day business. Unaware. Clueless.  
The van pulled into a parking lot. The back door was opened. He felt like he was walking to his execution. Heart hammering. 

The courtroom was empty. Hardly anyone in there. State prosecutor. His defence lawyer. His actual Social worker. 

But the strange man was also there, he was real. It was real. 

_Fuck_

“In the case of the people vs John Quinn. How does the defendant plead.”  
“Not guilty.”  
The lawyer man stood up. “My client enters a plea of not guilty by reason of psychiatric ill-health. He is suffering from severe PTSD from his childhood. We move to have him bailed to a secure child psychiatric unit for assessment as to his capacity.” 

“The people agree this is appropriate your honour.” 

“The defendant will be bailed to Baltimore Children’s hospital psychiatric unit.” 

The hammer fell.  
After some time, John was led outside, towards a “secure transport” van, BCH Psychiatric Transport written on the side.

Dar Adal was already in the front with another man driving. The back door opened and John took a huge step up into the van.  
The door slammed shut.  
Van drove off. 

A slider opened between the drivers cab and the back. Dar passed a bottle of cola and a packet sandwich passed through. 

“You alright?” he said.  
John took the sandwich and cola but remained silent. Wide open blue eyes taking in every feature of him. The tanned face. The scar, just above his right eye that he hadn’t noticed across the court room. In the interview room even. After a small amount of silence, John realised he needed to respond.  
He just nodded quietly. Not trusting himself to speak. 

His heart still hammering.  
The man smiled at him.  
The smile of a man that looked like he'd caught his prey. 

The slider shut again. 

The drive seemed to go on forever. Eventually, they pulled in to park. The door opened. They were still in Baltimore, John presumed. A long way from any bit he'd spent a lot of time in. 

The warehouse once upon a time would have been considered brown. But the bleach of age made it look like the red-blood mud he'd watched Tses' face sink into. 

John followed the strange man into the warehouse. There were several men sat around computers. A couple of sofas. A microwave and a fridge. 

Dar led the boy through some doors. There were several beds set up. 

"Theres some clothes in the bag. Thats your bunk. Take some time and get some rest. We'll see you in a couple of hours John, ok. Tell you how this is going to work". 

Dar left again. Just like before, John was left wondering how real this actually was. 

He sat down on the campbed. Head in his hands. Shut his eyes for a second. 

Silence. 

It had been so loud in the custody suite. So loud in his childrens home. The constant fighting, the loud music. The residents breaking curfew, coming back high as a kite and drunk. Little Fi sneaking in to his room whenever she could. He'd not slept properly for weeks. Flipping out at her after a week of her sneaking in. Then one night of peace, that hadn't even been peace because of the other fucking residents. Thinking to himself in the dead of night, that he had been wrong to flip out at Fi. That he should apologise in the morning. Then finding out the following night why she had been sneaking. Angry with Tse. Angry with himself for not realising. Not seeing that she was doing it to avoid Tse, until it was too late. Then picking up the knife. Tses face. The mud. Brown becoming red. 

He was so, so tired. 

Exhausted. 

Silence. 

He laid down on the camp bed. Eyes drifting shut.  
////  
He woke with a start some time later. Panting. Hyperventilating.  
He sat up, trying to calm his breathing.  
Swung his legs off the camp bed.  
Sitting. In the silence. 

Muffled, he heard voices. Quiet. They were obviously trying not to be overheard. 

“You expect me to turn him into an agent? He’s a *child* Dar. Not a soldier. You've got a toy-soldier, not a potential agent.” 

“He’s good Rob. He’s good. Practically recruited himself anyway. He pegged me as a liar not even ten seconds after I entered the interview room.” 

“He’s still a child. I can’t turn a child into a soldier. Into a killer” 

“He already is one Rob, you know that.” 

“He flipped and killed someone when he was angry. That’s a hell of a lot different to carrying out a planned, state sponsored execution and not telling anyone about it when he’s done. You know that! What the hell did you promise him anyway?” 

“Immunity from prosecution. Witness protection. College fees. You know.” 

Rob scoffed. It was muffled, but John could still hear it. "Poor kid". 

“He wanted to not go to jail, he knows what he’s got to do.” 

“And if he’s hurt, Dar. What then? Is there no line? Is there no *fucking* line. What if he’s killed doing this?” 

John knew he had to prove himself to this man. Push down the fear that was rising in his belly, his terror at the words “state sponsored execution.” This was just like moving foster home, moving care home. You had to be a bit of a peacock. Show you were the hard man. This Rob, if he was to be the one training him, needed to believe he was serious. John got up and walked through the doors. Stood there until he was noticed. 

“You ok kid?” Rob said. 

"Just so you know, asshole. I don't care what happens to me." 

Robs eyes went to his forehead.  
Dar Adal was barley concealing laughter. 

John turned around and stalked back out of the room. Ready to change out of the custody clothes and try and figure out what the fuck was going on.


	4. OPPO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing our favourite OPPO partnership

The door to the dorm room opened just as John had finished getting changed. He spun around.  
“What do you want?” He spat at the man.  
“I wanted to check you were alright?” Rob said softly. “I know you must be scared. I’d be scared too.”  
John looked up at this man, up and down. Eyebrows in his forehead. As if sizing him up. Rob stood silent, wondering at the audacity of the kid sizing up a highly trained, ex-Navy SEAL turned Delta Force/ Special Activities Divisional Officer. John spotted the Iraqi Flag tattoo on his forearm. So this man was a veteran of the First Gulf War. Interesting. Something had been playing on Johns mind ever since Dar had said the worlds “National Security” to him in an interview room.  
_  
////// /////// /////  
A small boy looked up at the towering soldier. Not crying. Stoic. Holding the hand of a wispy lady who was crying a raging torrent of tears. _

_“How did they die?” He asked.  
“Honourably, son. They saved a lot of American lives. They fulfilled their oath.”  
“No, I mean how? Where?”  
“I wish I could tell you son. But it’s a secret. In the business we call it “national security”. It’s important nobody knows.”  
“But I want to find out. There must be a way.” _

_The towering soldier sighed._

_“When you’re an adult, if you join the military and work hard, eventually you might have a job high enough up to find out son. That’s the only way.”_

_The boy nodded, a sniffle coming out now. Not trusting himself to say anything more than “Ok”.  
His mum clutched him to her chest. “No Johnny, I won’t lose you too.” _

_But mum could see in little Johnny’s eyes. The determined, focused look of his father and brother hiding in the baby blue._

_“You need to leave now,” She said to the Soldier. Pushing Johnny aside onto the sofa in a hurry.  
“Yes ma’am,” he said. Getting up. “If there is anything we can do, here is my business card.” _

_“I don’t want it.” She spat. “I don’t need it. Is it not enough that you stole my husband and son from me, now you want to steal my youngest child? My baby?” She was seething._

_Angry.  
The officer had seen it before. All families responded differently. _

_It's just grief_ , he told himself, nothing personal.  
He shut the door.  
Just as he got into the car, he saw through the kitchen window, the beautiful blond wispy lady pour herself a large wine.  
He hoped it wouldn’t end up like he thought it would.  
////////////////////////// 

__

“Did you know my Dad? My brother?” John asked quietly. 

Rob was half a second too late. Half a second too late for a boy who had been around liars for more of his life than not. People who said "I care", when what they really meant was "I don't care". People who said "You can trust me" when what they really meant was "You can't trust me." People who said "It's for the best," when what they really meant was "Its going to screw you up but its what my boss told me to do." 

So when Rob said “I’m not sure," John knew instantly. 

“Don’t lie.” John said looking at him directly, eyes flashing dangerously. 

Rob sighed. It wasn’t the kids fault he’d ended up in this situation. It wasn't the kids fault that Dar was right too. That John would likely be the asset they needed to finally turn some results on this mission. Rob just prayed he could keep the boy alive long enough to see it through. Then get this boy out without too much damage. Rob hated this, but this mission was so important. You had to balance the lives of the few against the lives of many, that was common sense. Mission before people was common sense, but by god it made Rob despair. 

“Yes, I did. Your brother too. It was before I did this job though, back when I was in the Navy SEALs. It was actually my first tour. They were good people kid, hold onto that.” 

“Did they work for him?” John said, head nodding at the door. Clearly indicating Dar. 

“That’s classified.” Rob said. 

“How did they die?” John asked. 

“That’s classified kid, as well, sorry.” 

“Please tell me.” John said quietly. Exhausted blue eyes boring right into Rob. 

“I would if I could kid. Its against the rules.” 

“Fuck the rules. FUCK THEM!” John shouted. “THEY WERE MY FAMILY.” Fists clenched by his side, tears rolling down his face unbidden. A kind of despair and hopelessness Rob wasn’t used to seeing in America. A regular sight in the middle east. Kids who’d lost everything. Boys burying their siblings, their parents. Little boys trying to force themselves to go on, but hoping everyday for admittance to Jannah themselves. For death. The boys becoming fearless and angry in their pursuit of it, in their pursuit of a silence which lasts forever. But not here. Not often anyway. 

Rob took a step towards the gangly boy, who tried to push him away. But Rob was faster. Trapping the boy in his strong arms. 

The boy tried to fight his way out, but he couldn’t. The fists stopped flying eventually. The boy was restrained, contained, sobbing. 

“They were my family; I have a right to know” Rob could make out. Muffled. Years of restrained grief falling out of the boy now, uncontrollably. 

Eventually, the sobbing stopped. 

Rob let go. The boy sank down onto his camp bed. 

“Sorry,” The boy muffled, face in his hands. Too exhausted to feel any more emotion. Embarrassment. 

Rob sat down on the bed. A wan smile ghosted his face. 

“Its ok kid. Group looks after its own. You’re one of us now. Better now than in the middle of your mission.”

Peter nodded. Breathing in and out. Trying to gather himself. 

“You’re going to feel like this for a few days kid. We all felt like it when we made our first kill.” Rob turned to the boy. 

The boy couldn’t make eye contact. 

“But we all know why you did it. Sometimes there is no human derived justice that can make up for what someone like Tse does to people.” 

The boy nodded again jaw clenched. 

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. 

“What’s this mission then?” The kid said. Pulling the hood of his sweater up, disappearing inside himself. 

“Come on,” Rob said, standing up. “Lets read you in.”


	5. Beer and Long Pig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But I'm not gone. Filler chapter!

John followed Rob and walked into the main room. Four other military men and Dar were sat in a circle, one next to the computer, drinking beer & eating a take-out pizza. Rob grabbed a bottle and pulled up a chair, twisting the cap off in his tooth and reached forward to grab a slice of pizza. 

John just stood there staring at the men.  
It took Rob a few seconds to notice John had not sat down. 

“Come, kid. Sit” He said, gesturing to the spare seat. 

John hesitated for a second then sat down.  
A soldier passed him a beer over the table. 

“I’m sixteen” 

The man scoffed.  
“Kid, you killed someone today. You deserve a beer.”  
Johns eyebrows shot to his forehead, reaching forward to take the beer but chuckling quietly at the same time.  
“What?” Rob said 

“Nothing.” John said, suddenly frightened of annoying him. 

“Go on, what are you laughing about?” 

“I mean… I guess it’s just a little fucked up isn’t it. Saying someone “deserves” a beer for killing someone.” John said, taking a swig of the beer.  
“Well you’re just a regular teenage douche-bag, aren’t you kid.” The soldier responded. 

John put the beer down on the table. 

“Well, I’ve already decided he's ‘asshole’,” he said, gesturing to Rob. “So who the fuck are you?” voice suddenly sharper. Showing his feathers a little. 

The soldier smile and laughed.  
“You’re going to fit right in here kid.” 

Johns hammering heart slowed a little bit. 

John picked up a slice of the Pizza. Quietly, he was picking off bits of Chorizo and Sausage and throwing them back into the Pizza box. 

“What the fuck are you doing douchebag?” Rob said, laughing, reaching forward to grab the sausage and plonk it on own slice of Pizza. “That’s the best bit!” 

Johns eyebrows shot to his forehead again. Staring at Rob.  
"What?" Rob said, as he sat back in his chair looking a little bit pleased with himself at the added extras for his food. 

“It’d be a bit fucked up eating Pork after you just murdered someone,” he mumbled. 

The two youngest soldiers burst out laughing. Rob looked quizzical. 

“I mean… cannibals call human meat long pig?” John said quietly. And before he could stop it coming out, the jibing question fell out of his mouth. “Don’t you ever read?” He looked up at Rob, wry smile on his face, hoping he hadn’t gone too far. 

Rob laughed, reaching over to brush the kids hair out his face, and rub his head in what John could only imagine as a brotherly-type way. “You really are a regular douche-bag aren’t you.” 

“I like this one,” Another soldier said. “Good pick Dar!” Said another. 

This strange feeling was growing inside John. 

_  
He guessed it was what belonging feels like._

He didn’t know. 

All he knew, was that he’d never felt like that before. Not since _home_ was so cruely ripped from him. 

But looking around the room; he felt it here. It was almost enough to bring the tears from earlier back to his eyes, but he managed to stop them from coming. Just sat there, swigging his beer slowly, not wanting to get too off his face.  
Wondering what all this meant.  
_  
Maybe it was the first few years of his life, rough-housing with his big-brother and has Dad. Dad a stickler for the rules, and for honour. Maybe it was the lost years in between. Maybe thats why these people felt like people he knew already._

Sat there, eating his Pizza, his mind was running away with him.  
_  
Could this be it? The opportunity to be something. Make something good of myself, despite everything. Serve my country? Do my Dad and my brother proud?_

John reached forward to grab another slice of Pizza, reminding himself to get his head out of the sky and pay attention.  
_  
You need to remember everything about everyone. You don’t know when you will need it._ The voice of the kid in his first children’s home rang through his head. The words he’d repeated to every kid who was new to the system wherever he had ended up. _The words he had told Fi._  
_  
The first two weeks is the most important: watch and wait, patience. Work out which staff to avoid, which kids. Which staff will break the rules and which staff are the ones to go to when you fuck up._  
He took in what he knew about the people already. Dar, in charge, was the eldest by a mile. A man in his mid-30’s who introduced himself as McClendon. John got the impression he was in charge when Dar wasn't. The other younger soldiers were Jack & Kareem. Jack said he did IT. And then there was Rob.  
Jack and Kareem were utterly hilarious. But Rob… Christ it was cracking him a little bit inside.  
__  
He was just like him.  
Sometimes it was hard to remember. Hard to remember the face, the mannerisms, the sound of voice of a loved one from so long ago. 

But Christ alive, although they looked nothing alike, Rob was SO like every memory of his big brother Peter. John guessed in part it was the military training, but then the accent, the mannerisms. It was all the same. The way Rob looked a little bit broken by this life too, even though he was proud of it, even though he thrived off it. His service to his country. His honour. Maybe they were all the same. These people who’d lay themselves down. Maybe they were different. But the feeling of ‘belonging’ was inescapable. The feeling of _home_.


	6. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John decides on his first undercover name. Robs not happy.

John just listened in quietly, eating his Pizza, for the rest of the meal. He was getting tired, and aware that the day had been wearing on him. The week. Fuck… even the last year had been wearing on him. 3 group homes. 1 they’d even lied, told him they were going to the shop and then they’d locked the door driven him to his new home, telling him only once he couldn’t run off that they’d ended his placement. 

They’d not even given him a chance to say goodbye. 

But the more he thought it about it, it wasn’t even the last year that had worn him thin. It had been life. Life had worn him thin. 

Slap. That burning feeling on his cheek again. Again, he had to touch his cheek to remind himself that it hadn’t been real. That it had been years since he’d lived with that woman. 

“You little devil, its your fault. You killed your mother, and now you shall live with the Mark of Cain upon you.” 

_Years hadn’t made the women’s’ words any less true though._

He blinked and shook himself. Trying to gather himself. Focus.  
His eyes caught the clock on the wall. 

20:01:58. 

Fuck. It had gotten late. 

“Kid… kid….” Fingers were being clicked in-front of his face. 

He shook his head again, trying to focus. 

“Sorry, yeah… been a long few days you know.” 

Kareem smiled at him sympathetically. 

“Yeah, we know kid. But we need to read you in now, get started on your new ID and stuff. You reckon you can stay awake long enough to do that?” 

John nodded, clearly embarrassed. 

“Stop it you mother hen!” Jack said, pushing him off his chair. “The poor boys already got Rob playing mum, he doesn’t need you too.” 

There was a laugh from John and Rob, as Kareem comically got up slowly from the floor and sneaked up upon Jack who’d been putting his chair away. Tackled him to the ground. 

“Fucking kids,” Rob muttered, grabbing John by the shoulder and steering him over to computers. John opened the file Rob passed him, and perched himself on the edge of the desk, in truth grateful for something to focus on. 

“So, the man you killed, Win Tse… he worked for Wah Ching… you might have heard of the shootout at El Monte Pool Hall in San Francisco?” 

John zoned out, trying to read. But Robs voice was pitter-patter, pitter-patter on his skull. Like one of those annoying birds. A woodpecker. 

Eventually, John couldn’t deal anymore. Slammed the file shut. 

“Look… I know you’re trying to be nice, but if you want me to read this, it might be worthwhile to let me read it. If you want to explain it to me, then explain it to me. I don’t mind, but both at the same time doesn’t work.” 

Rob at least had the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Sorry… I just wasn’t actually sure how confident you’d be with your reading.” 

John frowned. 

“Christ… you really are an arsehole.” He muttered under his breath before opening the file again. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

John breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Nostrils flaring. 

He could tell he was tired. Inane inferences about his intelligence like this wouldn’t usually drive him up the wall. But today. Holy shit, it was a struggle to keep himself together. Especially considering this fucking moron wouldn’t even tell him the one thing he had wanted to know. 

“No, you did mean it like that. But just because I haven’t been to school recently doesn’t mean I can’t read. Or do maths. Schools bullshit, they don’t teach you anything you couldn’t learn yourself in half the time. Its not efficient, and if I go to school, the result is dealing with morons like you more often. Teachers and Students. They’re all fucking idiots. That’s why I don’t go.” 

John looked down at the file, breathing heavily. 

“Leave it,” Jack said to Rob. “Come grab a coffee.” 

Rob disappeared, and once again there was virtually blissful silence. 

Just Kareem tap, tap tapping away on the computer screen. McClendon cleaning a rifle. Dar disappeared got knows where. He’d mentioned a hotel not far. Obviously too posh to slum it with the lads. 

Further into the file was simultaneously illuminating, but also not illuminating. John mused that he was in this mess because he’d killed Tse; their informant on this gang. But realistically, he didn’t see anything in this file about the gangs crime activities that glossed over the fact that Tse had been recruiting vulnerable young girls with the likely eventual goal of trafficking them. It was the whole gangs modus operandi, but the logic of letting even one of them off if it meant getting the rest, just didn’t make any sense to him. It certainly didn’t make sense that the death of one man (he presumed that was the plan anyway, since Rob had spoken about state sponsored execution) would destroy this whole operation. Even if it did, failing to punish the crimes of the individual members was ludicrous logically. It would be like letting Pol Potts henchmen off if you only got Pol Pott. It wasn’t like these people added any value to society, he mused. Like… he could see the value of the operation. Drugs, Organ and Sex Trafficking combined with International Terrorism were linked operations; he knew that from the extensive hours spent hiding in the library reading whatever had taken his fancy that day. Cut off the drug money and the rest stops. Lives saved. Maybe it would work. 

He supposed it didn’t matter if it worked or not. If executing this Chan Yek Chung of this bullshit gang him free, a new ID and enough money to pursue his high school diploma, it would be worth it. It wasn’t like the guy they would be asking him to kill was a good guy. Realistically, it wasn’t his choice or responsibility that the rest of this lot paid for their disgusting crimes, either, he knew that logically. And if this death did wreck the gang, that’d be a bonus. A lot of lives saved. A lot of Fi’s that never have to deal with that pain.  
Rob and Jack were back. Carrying a steaming cup of coffee each, and an extra one. 

“Brought you coffee, kid,” Jack said, setting it down on the table. “Didn’t know if you take creamer?” 

“Thanks,” John said. 

“All read up?” Rob asked. 

John nodded. 

“Good, so first up, we need to make you a new identity. You’ll spend the next few days learning that identity inside out. It needs to be watertight, so we’ll quiz you on it.” 

“How do I get by myself with this Chen Yek Chung?” John asked. 

“Step by step,” Jack interrupted. Not wanting the palpable tension between Rob and John to blow up again. “Identity first, then we start on that. Inconsistency with your identity is the most significant issue here which could see you hurt kid, we wanna see you out of this at the end of it, ok. Get you somewhere you wanna live.” 

“But it is Chen Yek Chung you want dead right?” John said, turning to Rob. 

Rob was impressed. It had only been inferred in the file. 

He nodded. 

“Colorado.” John said. “This goes down how you want, I wanna move to Colorado. I never want to live in a city again.”

“Why Colorado?” Kareem turned away from the computer. 

John faltered, for a second, unwilling to give any of himself away, but knowing he’d need to give a bit. 

“I went on a programme there a while back. Some back-country thing. Skiing is kind of cool.” 

That had been true. But he’d missed out that the time before that had been his last trip with Dad and Peter before they’d died. That it was the only time since, in the whole seven years, that the little voice in his head that gnawed at his whole self was quiet. That the cold sting of rime ice blowing in his face was the only thing that made him forget. That burning pain in his legs and lung was the only thing that quietened, just for a second, the burning pain that ate up his belly most nights and stopped him from sleeping. He missed all of that out. 

“Ok,” Rob smiled at him, a deep sense of foreboding that Colorado might indeed be a long way away, but not wanting to break that to the lad. “Colorado it is, kid.” 

“Anyway… topic. Name. You need at least to change your first name for this mission kid. We’ll call you it while you’re with us, get you used to it. Is there a name that’s memorable to you? Someone you’ve lived with maybe- A friends’ name that you liked? Something you won’t forget.” Kareem was blathering on. 

“Peter…” John said quickly. Sharply. Payback. Staring at Rob, daring him. Willing him to say something. Defiant. 

The same look that threw Rob back at him. 

“Great,” Kareem turned to the computer and started typing into what must have been some sort of government database. Johns eagle blue eyes focused on the screen.

“No.” Rob said, sharply. “Any name but that.” 

“Why? It’s great?” said Kareem, “We even have a deceased Peter whose ID can use…got a service record too”

“Oh really?” John said, his voice sickly sweet and polite as he walked over the computer, “Can I see? He might have been a relative of mine?”

Robs rock solid body was all of a sudden in the way. 

“You know that’s classified kid.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Any name but that,” 

“No.” 

“This mission doesn’t go ahead unless you use a different name for it.” Rob said. John knew instantly that he’ got him then. Knew that they were desperate for some results on whatever the fuck this shit show had been so far. Knew, eventually, he'd get what he wanted. Classified or not. He would find out eventually. 

“Cool, that’s fine, it doesn’t go ahead at all then.” 

“You wanna go back to Jail kid… that’s fine.” 

“Fuck you.” 

This was ludicrous, Kareem thought. The two acted like they were fucking related. Kareem wasn’t as bad as this with his own fucking brother. 

“He’s using the fucking name he wants to use,” McClendon said sharply, walking over to the fighting pair. 

“But.” 

“No fucking buts, if its all he’ll fucking use, its all he’ll fucking use. We need some results.” 

Jack and Kareem breathed a sigh of relief. Thank fuck for an executive fucking decision. John smirked.

“But you know what happened.” Rob started. 

“Stop fucking arguing. I know and I don’t fucking care. Get control of yourself soldier, you’re here to do a job” the Mcclendon said sharply. 

John stared at Rob, willing him, goading him into carrying on. Rob stormed off. 

But John had seen the code Kareem had entered into the computer. Memorised it. 

If they wouldn’t tell him what happened, he’d fucking find out himself.


	7. You're my guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Dar is horrible.

John busied himself, laughing and joking with Jack and Kareem, putting together his new identity- his brothers name, but details that John gave not from his brothers’ life, but from friends in the care system. Rob was nowhere to be seen, and quite frankly, John couldn’t bring himself to care. He remained aware, the whole time though, that the Mcclendon fellow was watching him uneasily. Didn’t like him one bit. 

After some time, Dar had returned and him and Mcclendon had spent some time chatting in the corner. 

21:48:01

Dar came over.  
“Come now,” Dar said to him. “McClendon’s’ told me how tired you are. I got a room for you in my hotel.”  
John stiffened. 

“I’m fine here, thankyou.” He said, trying to be polite. Not really having any huge desire to be alone with this man.  
“Yeah… camps decent isn’t it.” Jack said, a slight nervous laugh, clapping John on his shoulder. “The lad can bunk down here for some kip. Doesn’t need a fancy hotel.”  
“Nonsense. Come John. Now.” 

And not for the first time in his life, not even for the first time today, John had the overwhelming feeling of walking to his doom.  
Dar put his arm around his shoulders, guiding him across the street, left, right and left again. Johns heart was hammering.  
What he didn’t know, was the argument going down in the warehouse.  
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
“You’re a fucking piece of shit sometimes Mcclendon,” Kareem spat. 

“Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint.” 

“He’s 16, he’s a godammed fucking child.” 

“He killed someone… he’s a fucking asset that’s happy enough to fuck us all over if he doesn’t get his own way with his fucking name… he needs to be brought under control.” 

“You heap of shit,” said Jack, shoving his side arm into his belt. 

“What are you going to do, shoot Dar fucking Adal? You know that’s signing you up for immediate reeducation. And your families if I have anything to say about it soldier.” 

“What the fuck is going on?” Rob said, having walked back into the Warehouse to see Jack and Mcclendon staring up. “Where’s John?” 

“Dar” Kareem spat, “Has taken John back to the Hotel.” 

“And you just let him?” Rob exclaimed, moving towards the door. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
If John was honest with himself, he truly knew why Dar was taking him back to this hotel room. He knew his heart wouldn’t be hammering if it was for any other reason.

But he knew he was powerless. Just a kid in a big machine, swallowed up. 

Part of him wondered if this was how his Dad, and then his brother had got involved in this madness. How they had got swallowed up in this. Then he realised, with a shocking jolt, he still didn’t really know who these people were.

Who his Dad and brother had been swallowed up with? He realised, perhaps  
He’d guessed they were US Military… The words from Robs mouth- “State sponsored execution” had given that away.  
The words from Dar “National Security Asset.” The words from Rob… “I can’t turn him into a Soldier, into an agent”. Rob, repeating time and time again, that the circumstances of his Brother and his fathers’ death was classified. But who were they associated with? FBI? CIA? 

Then, John realised (and the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks), there was nothing to say these people were legitimate at all. Nothing to say he hadn’t just been picked up by a random gang, that recruited ex-military lunatic drop-outs to do hits on other gangs. Absolutely *nothing* to suggest they had any need for him beyond being an asset in this death. 

Nothing to suggest that anything after was guaranteed. No relocation, identity change, Colorado. What was to stop them just pulling a trigger on him when they got bored, and decided he was useless? 

This whole situation was ludicrous. Insane. 

Insane. 

Then, he realised with a start, he was looking at himself. He wasn’t even really in his body anymore. He was looking at himself. Looking at himself as he gulped, blue eyes staring at Dar who did not shut the door behind him as he left, but shut the door behind him as he too entered the room. 

Looking at himself, as he gulped again, and asked Dar “What is going on?” 

Looking at himself as suddenly, fast, there were sweaty hands all over him, as he did that which he swore he’d never do. He froze. 

Ludicrous. He said to himself. Snap out of it. Fight, goddam you John, FIGHT. A voice screamed inside his head, but his limbs were leaden, heavy, and all his could do was watch himself. 

Truly, for the first time in his life, he was frightened. 

He thought he’d been frightened before, all those years ago when that woman had slapped his faced and cursed him.  
_And you shall live with the mark of Cain upon you._

He thought he had been the most frightened he could ever imagine, when in his second home he’d barricaded himself and the other foster kid in the basement to escape his psychotic foster fathers’ clutches. 

Then he realised, that his illusion of that being the most frightened he had ever been was shattered the following year, when another kid had lost their shit in his first group home, and he’d found them, shoe lace tied around their neck in laundry cupboard. He’d clawed and clawed to get the tight noose off before a staff member had found them and cut it off. 

Then he realised, again, with shocking clarity, that life was only going to get more and more frightening. 

He was only aware of the hands as he was moved backwards to the bed. The sweaty hands. And the voice. That sickening voice. 

“You’re my guy now Peter.”  
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
Meanwhile, Rob tried to shove McClendon out of the way, but the man was fast, better trained.

Not better per se, but older, serving longer, more experienced. 

“You need to stop getting involved Rob. Emotionally distant. The boy is *not* his brother, and he is *not* his father.” 

“How can you say that?” Rob exclaimed, shocked, realising he wouldn’t get through. “This groups supposed to look out for its fucking own? How can you stand there honestly with any sort of honour and say this is ok?” 

“You need to look at the big picture.” 

“Fuck the big picture. That’s Peters’ little Brother.” 

Rob tried to shove past again, angry… so fucking angry. Not really giving a shit what was about to happen. Just thinking about John, about trying to get there in time. 

And then he was on the floor. He was conscious long enough to bring his hand to his face and feel the bruise already starting to form, before he passed out. 

“You’re here to do a job,” McClendon spat at the other too, wiping the blood from his hand on his shirt. “Don’t fucking forget it.” He said, before walking off. 

Jack and Kareem looked at each other for half a second after McClendon left, before springing into action. Jack checking on Rob, and Kareem furiously typing. 

It would be some hours before Rob woke up, but when he did, Kareem would tell him of the recording and how, in the event of his untimely demise, Rob could get that recording- either for his own sake or for Johns. 

It would take many years for Rob to acknowledge openly, the guilt which ate him up inside and out for storming out hours before and not being there to prevent Dar doing what he did. John would be known to everyone as Peter when Rob was finally brave enough to face it. To face the guilt, for the shame of knowing that he probably could have destroyed Dar with the recording but knowing the man’s slippery slyness he had chosen not to. 

He never had the guts to go through with it. 

The guilt for the years that he tried to justify it as some sort of twisted ‘greater good’ logic. John had become a brilliant operator, exceptional. His best friend. His little brother. The guilt at not protecting the little brother of the people who'd laid themselves down for him. The guilt of being protected by his little brother so many times. They'd only survived so much because of him. Because of his sharp shooting. Because of his quick witted nature. The confounded guilt, when he realised the little girl that they’d rescued in Iraq all those years later had had the courage to do the one thing which made Rob quake in his boots. 

She had taken on Dar Adal- and from beyond the grave she had won and allowed the man to have some semblance of the life he had so long deserved. 

And the added guilt, of being washed of his sins, almost immediately. Rob truly believed then that John had more courage and goodness in his little finger than Rob had in his whole self. Couldn't believe, that this man who had been so wronged by him, almost immediately admonished him with a “no one takes on Dar Adal and wins.” That Rob had had his mentees arms around him, as he cried his guilt away like a river. That John, or Peter as he was then known, had repeated for him time and time again. 

"Other peoples actions are not your fault." 

That despite the horrors they had seen, and the twisted leadership of Dar Adal, John said he was grateful for his service years. 

Because, on balance, and after a psychotic break, hospitalisation and much therapy (better therapy than he'd ever accessed in his teenage years), he realised he’d saved far more lives than he’d taken. That there were little Fi's and Faras going to school in Afghanistan now because of the work they had done. That little Fi's and Faras would become scientists and lawyers if they wanted to. That the land of endless sunrises, untouched mountains and desert had been given the opportunity to be a land where people laughed, and that had been worth giving up everything for. It had been worth fighting for. John told him how Rob had been the first person he knew in 7 years in Care to actually look out for him. That the two years they'd spent as brothers, after the murder of the leader of one of the most vicious gangs America had ever seen, skiing in wild back country colorado, had been the only two years of his childhood since he lost his blood family where he felt that someone cared if he lived or died. Reminded him that it hadn't just been him saving Rob; oh no, that they'd never have gotten out of Al-Fallujiah alive if it hadnt been for Rob. Or venezuela. Or guatemala. Much they had seen and done together, and although John had got them out alive more times than Rob cared to remember, he realised then, there had been more than a few times the tally went the other way.

But ultimatley, because without that terrible terrible night that had haunted his memory for most of his adult life, he'd never have joined up. He'd never have met a man who sat with him by a fire in Colorado and told him honestly about the honour of his brother and his father. He'd never have re-assigned to the deltas at the earliest opportunity. He'd never have taken command of the CIA black ops unit. He'd never have been assigned the Brody case. Never have met his beautiful, smart, talented and _yes, a little bit crazy_ wife. And he'd never have adopted a beautiful red headed ball of spirit as his daughter.


End file.
